A Quote by Robert Oliver

God bless my soul!  No apple pie. — © Robert Oliver
God bless my soul! No apple pie.
God bless every soul that we lost. God bless the families who have to endure that loss, and God guide us to our reunion in heaven, and God bless the United States of America.
Truth, justice...I always thought they were absolutes, like God. And Mom. And apple pie. But you could make apple pie from Ritz crackers. You could make cakes without sugar. We learned how to fake things, during the war.
I love pie. Definitely apple pie, but sweet potato pie - really any pie.
There was a period when I had apple pie as a treat every day of the week. I mean, like, a family apple pie.
I'm more American than apple pie. I'm like apple pie, with a hot dog in it.
Pessimism is as American as apple pie - frozen apple pie with a slice of processed cheese.
But I, when I undress me Each night, upon my knees Will ask the Lord to bless me With apple-pie and cheese.
The natural term of an apple-pie is but twelve hours. It reaches its highest state about one hour after it comes from the oven, and just before its natural heat has quite departed. But every hour afterward is a declension. And after it is one day old, it is thence-forward but the ghastly corpse of apple-pie.
Although the frankfurter originated in Frankfurt, Germany, we have long since made it our own, a twin pillar of democracy along with Mom's apple pie. In fact, now that Mom's apple pie comes frozen and baked by somebody who isn't Mom, the hot dog stands alone. What it symbolizes remains pure, even if what it contains does not.
Every big leaguer and his wife should teach their children to pray, God bless Mommy, God bless Daddy, and God bless Babe Ruth.
Come on, it's an American tradition. Apple soup? Mom's homemade chicken pie?' She chuckled in spite of herself, then winced. 'It's apple pie and Mom's homemade chicken soup. But you didn't do badly, for a start.
May God bless Montana, God bless America, and God bless the troops who defend her.
Wives of ballplayers, when they teach their children their prayers, should instruct them to say: God bless mommy, God bless daddy, and God bless Babe Ruth! He's upped daddy's paycheck by 15 to 40 percent!
Not all of them, but certainly there's some really, really dramatic differences among apples. And what you learn if you have that number of varieties is you learn which Apple is good for which purpose. So I have a favorite apple for apple pie. It's called Bramley Seedling. It's a old British Apple. I blend a lot of these apples together that make apple cider every year. It's a great hobby, but it's, you know, it takes some time. And it can be frustrating when the Japanese beetles or the gypsy moths come.
The great thing about baking is that you can bring in an apple pie when you have company and say, 'I baked this for you,' and people love it. Men love it when you bake a pie for them.
The pie should be eaten "while it is yet florescent, white or creamy yellow, with the merest drip of candied juice along the edges, (as if the flavor were so good to itself that its own lips watered!) of a mild and modest warmth, the sugar suggesting jelly, yet not jellied, the morsels of apple neither dissolved nor yet in original substance, but hanging as it were in a trance between the spirit and the flesh of applehood...then, O blessed man, favored by all the divinities! eat, give thanks, and go forth, 'in apple-pie order!'"
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